


getting you alone (isn't easy to do)

by mayerwien



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avenger Loki, Avengers Tower, Doki Doki Loki, Dysfunctional Family, Everybody Lives in Stark Tower, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Stark Tower, Team as Family, You Can See Things Through Shirts In This Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/pseuds/mayerwien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Loki wants, Loki gets. </p><p>Or at least he would, if everyone else would just go the hell away for five minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	getting you alone (isn't easy to do)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Loki wants to kiss Tony but everyone keeps interrupting their one-on-one moments somehow.”
> 
> \--
> 
> I wrote this over the past three days in a marathon word-barf, as part of a fanfic trade with my close friend-slash-college classmate. I miss writing things where people actually talk and are witty and DO things, so this was incredibly fun and well worth staying up till 4 AM for.
> 
> I made a mini fanmix as I was writing, so I've included the tracklist in the end notes, if you want some tunes to queue up while you're reading!

 

  
_well I know that getting you alone isn’t easy to do_   
_but with the exception of you I dislike everyone in the room_

– Arctic Monkeys, “Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You”

 

* * *

 

The balcony is, without a doubt, Loki’s favorite part of Stark Tower. For one thing, it means he gets to look down on the city at the mortals, moving about their tiny, mundane lives, for the moment completely unconcerned with the immense cosmic forces waging war above their heads. (Right now he is watching an old man totter down the steps of his brownstone apartment and head in the direction of the park, presumably to adhere to some quaint pigeon-feeding routine. Loki considers for a moment disguising himself as a pigeon and flying down there to cause some minor havoc, but then decides the banality of that would make it an all-time low.)

But for another, it means that he can be alone. At the moment, he is avoiding his brother, who is currently thumping up and down the stairs and complaining that the “little shiny oven” is no longer producing hot bread.

Some human named Sartre once said something along the lines of hell being other people. Hell, Steve had to explain to him, was a place which they believed existed underground, and which they believed was full of fire and brimstone and whatnot. In a word, unpleasant.

Whoever this Sartre person was, Loki will wager that he spent some time in the company of the Avengers. There is no bowing and scraping around here. There is, on the other hand, a lot of bickering and swearing. There is stray clothing and dirty silverware strewn across every available surface. There is forgetting to knock. (On particularly stressful days for either Thor or Bruce, there is occasionally also forgetting there are doors.) There are things which frequently attack the city, and there are things which even more frequently explode in the basement.

 _Hell,_ for Loki, has become routine. He has become forced not only to tolerate, but to _embrace_ Hell. He has _‘80s Movie Nights_ with Hell.

And yet. Loki uncurls his fingers from around the metal railing, and casts his gaze towards the lightening horizon. And yet, this arrangement is not entirely undesirable. With these people, he is not a monster. With these people, he is just another person they ask to pass the salt at the dinner table.

And then of course, there is that other matter.

Loki turns and heads for the kitchen, from which is coming the faint smell of burning.

Inside, Steve is sitting at the table, drinking deeply from a carton of milk in blissful silence. Natasha, hands on hips, is arguing with Clint about something or other, which is not surprising at all.

“Clint, seriously, _what_ is the point of having such a gorgeous dining room if we never use it?”

“Because the kitchen is perfectly fine! In the kitchen, you never have to be more than, like, two meters away from the fridge. _I_ like the kitchen. _Steve_ likes the kitchen. _Bruce_ likes the kitchen, right, Bruce?” Clint directs this last question at the doctor, who has just entered from the other door.

“Uh, whichever answer doesn’t get me knocked into 2015,” Bruce replies uncertainly, glancing from one glaring face to the other, and reaching past them to ease a piece of toast off the platter.

Natasha covers her eyes with one hand and groans. “At least use _plates,_ for God’s sake. And don’t even _think_ about bringing that back down to the lab,” she adds accusatorily, pointing a finger at Bruce. “We _sit,_ and we _eat,_ and we make conversation like _normal_ people.”

Grinning, Steve says, “If ‘normal’ is what you’re trying to make us be, Natasha, I think you missed that boat by about a few decades.” He gets up and pulls open the giant titanium refrigerator door, taking out another carton of milk.

At that moment, Stark stumbles in, his eyes only half-open. He is still in the same T-shirt he was wearing all day yesterday, and his hair is flat on one side and sticking up on the other—a sign of having fallen asleep at his worktable again, Loki notes wryly.

“G’morning, babes,” Tony says groggily.

“Ah-ah.” Natasha grasps Tony by the shoulders and lowers him into a chair. “I have breakfast in the oven, and it’ll be done any minute.”

“Tasha, sweetheart, _thank_ you for cooking all by yourself, but Mommy and Daddy are working on something very important in the lab, so we don’t have time for th—“

Natasha cuts Tony off by shoving a plate into his chest with enough force to knock the wind out of him. _“Sit,”_ she commands, so dangerously that Bruce also complies out of vicarious obedience.

Rolling his eyes, Loki perches on the edge of a chair himself, in between Tony and Steve. He reaches gingerly for a piece of bread—a sad, flat affair, and a far cry from the steaming thick loaves served in Asgard—and is about to take a bite when an earth-shaking _thump_ from the living room rattles the mugs on the counter, and makes all their chairs move back about an inch.

Thor strides in, holding Mjolnir in one hand and the toaster in the other. The toaster is smoking. “I have repaired the little oven,” he announces, beaming.

“You idiot,” Loki sighs.

Tony reaches out to retrieve the toaster and promptly drops it. “Ow! Damn.” Putting his fingers in his mouth, he tips his head back and yells at the ceiling, “JARVIS, order another toaster, would you?”

“Right away, sir,” the AI answers in its calm, slightly dry tone. “Although perhaps if Sir Thor did not persist in attempting to fit five slices of bread into a single slot, I would not have to replace your home appliances quite so often.”

Tony purses his lips at Thor, while Natasha slides a frying pan out of the oven and sets it in the center of the table. It appears to contain a baked egg for each of them, and several large slices of an unidentifiable pink meat.

“Oh, God.” Steve recoils when he sees the pan. “Is that Spam? It’s, I’m sorry, it’s just—they used to give it to us when we were at the front. Every meal, every day. We used to call it ‘ham that didn’t pass its physical.’”

“So in other words, it was a lot like you,” quips Tony, slapping the butter knife against his toast, and the others burst into laughter.

Even Loki has to smirk at that one. Tony notices, and shoots him a wink.

“Captain _Spam-erica,”_ Clint howls, while Steve looks deeply offended. 

“Come now, surely it can’t be that bad,” says Thor jovially, and with that, forks a slice and pops it into his mouth. He chews for a moment, and his forehead wrinkles. 

“This Spam is very...interesting,” he manages finally. “What animal does one slaughter to produce this...er, unique dish?” 

“Um, well, it’s mostly made of...” Natasha pauses and stares down at her plate. “You know, I’m not exactly sure.” 

Bruce’s watch starts beeping loudly, and he leaps to his feet. “The cultures!” 

Loki watches as Stark scrapes his chair backwards, dusts off his front, and briefly finger-combs his hair. “Coming, dear,” he calls after Bruce, who is already out the kitchen door. 

Loki knows all too well about emotions. Emotions are unnecessary. Emotions make you weak. 

He steeples his fingers thoughtfully as Stark grabs another heavily buttered piece of toast and, as Natasha protests, leans in to kiss her cheek affably before strolling out of the kitchen whistling. The outlines of his shoulder blades jut out underneath the fabric of his shirt. 

Hunger, Loki is fairly certain, does not count as an emotion.

 

* * *

 

Loki will aver that he is not, in fact, strictly male. In Asgard, this sort of thing is a fairly moot point—everyone likes what they like, no questions asked—but he personally feels he is above such petty things as labels and classifications. If he were ever pressed to describe his sexuality, he would compare it to plasma. Fluid. Electric. The point being, Loki never really thought it _mattered._

But here, he is beginning to wonder. 

“I never asked—do you only have _one_ outfit and never wash it? Or are you like one of those cartoon characters who has a whole closet full of the same thing?” 

Genuinely startled, Loki turns to see Stark standing on the threshold of the balcony, dressed in black tie. He is fastening a pair of cufflinks to his shirt sleeves; the cufflinks are gold and shaped like the Iron Man helmet. The light from the setting sun touches on the beginnings of silver in his hair. 

Loki raises an eyebrow. “I am a master at casting illusions, Stark. How do you know I am not actually unclothed at this very moment?” 

“Whoa. Okay, definitely on my list of things I _don’t_ want to know.” Tony raises his hands. “Seriously, though, I mean come on. Even _Thor’s_ wearing normal people clothes now.” 

“If you are suggesting that I don one of your ridiculous ‘rock and roll’ garments,” Loki says icily, pronouncing the words with distaste, “there had better be a slew of other thoughts en route.” 

Tony pretends to look hurt as he crosses the balcony and leans against the railing next to Loki. “Hey, _one,_ don’t diss the Black Sabbath tees. And two, ‘ridiculous’? Glass house and stone right there.” Then he makes a marquee with his thumbs and forefingers and holds it up at eye level, framing Loki. “But no, I was thinking more something from Brooks Brothers. Classy, not flashy. Very tasteful.” 

Scowling, Loki changes the subject. “I question your concept of ‘tasteful.’ What’s the occasion?” he asks, gesturing at the suit. 

“Just trying on clothes for next week. Around here, we have a thing called Fashion Week, at which I am required to make an appearance every year.” Tony flashes him a grin and nudges him with his elbow. “Come to think of it, wanna be my plus one? You’d fit right in.” As Stark continues to chatter away, relating countless anecdotes from A-list gatherings, Loki struggles to ignore the fact of their proximity, and the fact that Stark has not quite pulled his elbow away. 

Mortals are so fragile, he thinks. So easy to control, so easy to break. And with such short lives. Sometimes Loki looks around and thinks, _I am among the dying._

But for all that, they are also capable of great strength. Intelligence. True _brilliance._ And something more—an intensity that until now, Loki is unable to name. He sees it in their eyes sometimes. All that considered, at times he thinks he almost understands why Thor would choose to give up everything for it. To stay here. 

“—so after he said that, _obviously_ I hacked into his Twitter account and posted some pictures from his phone, and let me tell you, even the _weather_ reporters were talking about it the next morning—“ 

The smell of Stark’s aftershave is clouding the back of his throat. They are close enough now that, for one absolutely insane moment, Loki actually considers doing the thing he’s been thinking about doing for a while now. 

Just to shut him up. 

And he is really actually about to do something, or at least start to _say_ something, when there is a rapping on the glass pane behind them. 

Clearing his throat, Steve steps out from behind it. “Tony, Pepper’s on the phone. She’s asking why there’s a thirteen-hundred-dollar charge on your credit card for the, er, the Playboy Mansion.”

“I can totally explain. It’s, I owe Hugh a favor, and he needed me to get a—you know what, never mind, lemme talk to her.” Rocking forward on his heels, Tony wiggles his fingers at Loki and jogs past Steve into the house. 

Loki doesn’t move to acknowledge the gesture, just folds his arms and swivels back around to resume staring at the city skyline. He doesn’t normally admit to having bad ideas, but—that was a bad idea. 

He can feel Steve practically breathing on his neck. Gods above, why hasn’t he _left_ yet? “Sooo...what are you doing out here?” 

“Nothing,” Loki replies through his teeth. 

“Hold on, was that—were you—“ Steve looks from Loki to Tony’s retreating back and then back to Loki and back to Tony, and then an infuriatingly wide smile spreads across his face. _“Oh.”_

“Don’t you dare,” Loki begins heatedly, pointing a finger at him. 

“Oh, I _dare.”_ The expression on Steve’s face is unsettlingly smug. (Loki tries to place it, and realizes with annoyance that it is the same expression he sometimes sees in the mirror.) “No, see, this is a good thing. Now I know you’re—well, _normal,_ for lack of a better word.” 

Loki has been furious before—so much so that the word ‘furious’ is a gross understatement—but never has he felt this particular rush of feeling, combined with the odd sensation of his face and ears growing hot. “I swear on the halls of Valhalla, if you speak of this to _anyone,_ anyone at _all,_ I will strangle you with your own vocal cords.” 

“Relax, hot stuff. I’m not going to say a word.” Steve folds his arms calmly. “But you know, you should just tell him. Waiting for the right time can easily turn into waiting too long. Take it from me.” 

Loki bristles. “If I need any further advice, _Captain,_ I’ll be sure to let you know,” he snaps. 

Steve just laughs. “Okay, Rick, whatever you say. Just don’t let him board that plane,” he says, and finally leaves him alone. 

Steve’s flippant comments have Loki seething for the rest of the afternoon. But when he goes into his room later that evening to find a paper bag containing a pair of dark pants and several long-sleeved shirts in different shades of green laid out neatly on his bed, he does not dispose of them. 

Not _immediately,_ anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Uh, guys?” Bruce is standing by the window which spans the length and height of the living room, squinting into the night. “Something weird’s happening a few blocks down.” 

The others huddle close and look out as well, all except for Loki, who is above huddling. Outside, the billboards of Times Square are flickering, and then all of them simply go out. Tony whistles and clinks the ice in his glass. “Weirdsville indeed. JARVIS, what’s the report?” 

“Sir, a disoriented civilian appears to be causing the electrical disturbance.” 

“Armed?” 

“Not that I am aware of, sir.” 

“Even so, shouldn’t we get down there?” Natasha presses her palms against the glass. 

Tony vaults over the back of the couch and presses a button on the TV remote, and the screen shows a view from a stoplight camera. A red-and-blue blur drops down from the top of a building like a pendulum, then volleys back up and moves in the direction of Times Square. “Nah. The kid’s handling it.” 

“Aww, I like the kid.” Clint comes back in from the kitchen and settles on the couch, ripping open a bag of popcorn. “Fifty bucks says he makes it two rounds before getting KO’d.” 

Glancing up at the lights, Natasha frowns. “Just hope it doesn’t—“ 

Then there is a loud _bzzzrt,_ and the tower is completely flooded with darkness. Someone yelps. (Probably Steve, Loki thinks vindictively.) 

“Relax, girls,” says Tony’s voice amusedly. “JARVIS? What gives? Generator’s supposed to start up automatically.” 

“If you’ll recall, sir,” the AI answers, “you shorted out the generator last week during your trial run of the new lunar energy panels.” Everyone groans simultaneously. 

Thor clears his throat. “Worry not. _I_ can fix the—“ 

 _"No,”_ everyone yells.

“I am recalibrating now,” JARVIS continues, sounding almost self-satisfied. “The generator should be fully operational shortly. Estimated time, twelve minutes.” 

Stark coughs. “Thanks, JARVIS. So, while we’re waiting, who wants a martini? We’ll probably get half the stuff on the floor since we can’t see anything, but what the hell, let’s live dangerously.” 

The usual chatter resumes after that. Some of them move back to the window, occasionally gasping when another blue spark of electricity becomes visible through the glass. (Clint and Thor are placing bets.) 

Even in the dark, without looking or listening, Loki can sense each person’s presence. He can’t read minds, but he can feel each of their consciousnesses, distinct as stars in the galaxy. Loki rather likes the dark—not in accordance with any cliche, but just because things are simpler in it. 

It is then that he realizes that he can, with absolute, painful clarity, pinpoint Stark’s exact location in the room. Out of the spotlight, away from his thousand-dollar suits and gadgets and machines, he is reduced to flesh and blood. Warmth and a beating heart. And that _mind._ Blazing bright as a supernova. 

Loki is not entirely sure what his body wants to accomplish here, but it now seems to be moving of its own accord. Slowly, he takes one step, and then another, and stretches out his hand until, he is sure, it is hovering just inches above Stark’s arm. 

And then, as luck would have it, the lights come back on, and the TV resumes blaring its report. 

“Well, gosh darn. And here I was ready to break out the glow sticks and start a rave,” Tony says, and then he pauses uncomfortably. “Uh, Loki?” 

And gods above, Stark is _staring_ at him. At _him,_ with his hand still stuck out like an imbecile, practically caressing his gods-cursed _arm._

And now _everyone_ is staring.

“I thought I saw a—spider,” says Loki briskly, immediately lowering his hand and pointedly ignoring everyone else’s quizzical glances. “Knowing you, Stark, I was saving you from the embarrassment of a violent reaction.” 

“Oh.” Stark looks a little confused, but he shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.” 

“A spider in _that_ darkness? That’s some bionic vision you’ve got there,” Steve comments innocently, and Loki can’t even follow through on his promise to murder Steve because he knows he brought this on himself. 

Bad, bad, _bad_ idea.

“If all the excitement is over, I believe I’m going to bed,” Loki mutters, and before anyone can say anything, he turns on his heel and stalks up the staircase. His boots make a faint tapping noise on the steps—a noise which, in the silence of the living room below, rings out loud and clear. 

 

* * *

 

Normally, Loki wouldn’t seek Stark out in the laboratory. He and Doctor Banner are forever working on something or other down there, and any visitors during a particularly fervent brainstorming session are summarily ignored. Pepper often calls the lab ‘the playroom,’ with no shortage of exasperation in her voice. 

But Bruce is gone for the week, attending a medical conference, and this means that Stark has the lab all to himself. 

Descending the staircase, Loki flicks his wrist lazily, and the door slides open with a _whoosh._ The place looks as though a hurricane tore through it; tools and spare parts are scattered all over the floor, and wiring is exposed in places Loki is fairly sure it should not be. 

Stark himself is standing in the middle of the hologram space, which is active and displaying what appears to be a microorganic structure of some kind. Interestingly, he is sporting a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Brow furrowed, he is moving particles around at a furious speed with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. 

JARVIS pipes up, “Sir, Agent Coulson is on line one. He says it’s urgent. Shall I put h—“ 

“Not _now,_ JARVIS,” yells Stark, cutting the AI off, just as one of his robots wheels up behind him and tugs on the hem of his shirt with its pincers. “And Dummy, I told you to _stay_ in the corner.” He flings both his arms up to shoo the bot away, which accidentally shuts down the hologram. 

Swearing, Stark boots it back up and places both palms on his worktable, ducking his head momentarily. “Okay. Yoga breathing. Yoga breathing.” 

Then he looks up and sees Loki. “Sorry. Everything kinda goes to shit when Pep’s not here, and she knows it.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, tipping the glasses crookedly to one side. “Sometimes I think she goes on vacation just so she can see the relieved look on my face when she comes back through the door. Speaking of which, what brings you down here, God of Playing Dress-up?” 

“I was...” Loki makes a vague gesture. “In search of intelligent conversation.” 

Stark stares. “Holy shit. Was that a compliment? Wait wait wait, say it again, I need to record it for my ringtone.” 

Loki snorts. “I was speaking in relative terms.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he steps around the worktable and peers at the holographic display. “That said...might I ask what you are working on?” 

“It’s, uh, it’s supposed to be a new kind of artificial antibody. Polymer nanoparticles. I’m no microbiologist, but it was an idea I had. Something to give the kids at the hospital for Christmas.” 

“Your structure is all wrong,” comments Loki. Striding into the constellation of nanoparticles, he reaches out and plucks one free from its chain. The hologram writhes as if in protest, but Loki ignores it and patiently begins to unlink Stark’s mistakes, forming new chains. The entire process takes him less than a minute. When he is finished, the entire web of light flashes a brilliant blue. 

“Polymer structure completed,” JARVIS chimes. “Congratulations, sir.” 

Wordlessly, Stark sits down on the edge of his desk. For a while, the two of them just continue to watch the gently pulsing orbs rotate in midair. 

Stark breathes out. “I’m still getting used to. You know. The whole god thing.” His gaze follows the track of a single glowing light, which is drifting lazily across the hologram boundary. “All my life, I was taught that if you want to find answers, you have to work them out with your own two hands. Tools, science.” He glances at Loki. “Not magic.” 

“My brother might have mentioned to you that science and magic are fundamentally the same. The fact of the matter is, as a god, I know everything about the universe that you do not.” Loki glances critically at the virtual folders floating beside the display under the heading ‘C://BACKBURNER,’ and all of which have names like, ‘eh whatever,’ ‘needs more pizzazz,’ and ‘make Bruce do this one.’ 

Pacing over to the wall, Loki studies the framed articles and magazine covers. Almost all of them are of Stark himself, save one—a small, yellowed newspaper article which hangs on the far left. The hazy black-and-white photograph shows an unsmiling man with slicked-back hair standing in front of a team of scientists; the caption reads, _‘Howard Stark, a member of the core team working on the Manhattan Project.’_  

“I wasn’t aware that you wore glasses,” he says over his shoulder, just to break the silence. 

Tony pushes them up the bridge of his nose with his shoulder. “Sometimes. This pair isn’t mine, though, I just swiped them from Bruce’s briefcase when he wasn’t looking. Makes me look smarter. Not that I _need_ to, but y’know.” Then he notices Loki looking at the clipping. “My dad,” he supplies. 

“I surmised as much. Although you don’t look very alike.” 

“Really? Huh. You know, you’re the first person who’s ever said that.” Tony balances a pencil on the tip of his finger and flips it over into the air. “Is it weird that I don’t miss him that much? Even after knowing everything he did for me. It’s just—growing up, it was like his being a father to me was nothing more than a biological fact.” 

Loki shrugs. “I’m no expert on _missing_ people, least of all fathers. And in my case, even the biological fact turned out to be a lie.” 

Stark gives him a wry half-smile. “So I guess that makes two of us with daddy issues, huh?” 

“I guess,” Loki repeats, and wryly half-smiles back. “Is there anything else you need me to solve for you? An answer to the problem of world hunger, perhaps? A method of time travel?” 

Stark chuckles. “I’m an inventor. I’ll build my own damn time machine.” 

“Ah. Well, then, how about I propose a little experiment of my own?” He pauses. “One on your heart.” 

Stark tilts his head. “As I recall, your powers have no effect on my heart.” He taps the center of his chest, where the arc reactor is glowing a soft blue through his shirt. “Remember?” 

Loki swallows. “No magic,” he croaks softly. “Just me.” 

Tony inhales, and his eyes widen slightly. But he doesn’t break eye contact. He doesn’t move away. 

Loki steps forward. 

And then the door slams open. 

Which _should_ be impossible, because the door is automatic. Which means that it can only be one person. 

“Stark! The little shiny oven is broken again!” 

Loki is going to _kill_ him.

 

* * *

 

“They’re coming out of the sewers!” yells Clint, firing off another arrow. It hits the side of a taxicab and ricochets away at a perfect 90-degree angle. The giant lizard whose throat the arrow gets buried in lets out a gargling screech, whipping its tail from side to side, and collapses onto the sidewalk.

Steve grasps his shield and lets go of it in a forceful overhand throw, taking out three of the creatures in succession. “Did these guys miss the extinction memo?” he pants as he reaches up and catches the shield, now slick with green slime, on its way back. 

People are shrieking and zigzagging across the street, arms over their heads. Stark, in his newest Iron Man suit, is picking up some of the stragglers who are blindly running too close to danger, depositing them at safe distances. The next block over is mostly burning, as five minutes ago one of the lizards crashed into a tank truck, successfully setting both itself and several storefronts on fire. 

In the midst of all the chaos, Loki is dodging the civilians and glancing left and right at his teammates. Raising his arms, he conjures up a force field and thrusts it down a side street, sending five lizards reeling backwards in a heap. Once upon a time, he would have enjoyed this disorder. Indeed, part of him still finds this more exhiliarating than anything else. But— 

“Bruce!” yells Tony while hovering in midair, waving his arms. His armor is already battle-scuffed. “Hey, can you Banner down for a second? I need you to help me figure out where the epicenter of th—“ 

“No time!” the Hulk bellows, while simultaneously giving a lizard an uppercut which sends it hurtling two hundred feet into the air. “Just smash!” 

Whirling, Tony demands, “Can you get inside their heads?” and it takes Loki a moment to realize that he is the one being addressed. “Can you mind-control them or whatever and make them stop?” 

Zeroing in on a single lizard, Loki shuts his eyes and tries. But he is immediately met with resistance; there is a very solid barrier surrounding the creature’s consciousness, and no matter what approach he takes, he cannot get past it. He tests a few others to make sure, before shaking his head. “Either they are of magical origin, or someone magical is controlling them,” he shouts. “We can’t do anything except kill them.” 

“Okay! Let’s regroup,” calls Steve, pointing at each of them. “Black Widow, you and Loki take this side! Thor and Hawkeye, you go east! Hulk—“ He is interrupted by a deep bellow from around the corner. ”Never mind, Hulk’s okay by himself. Iron Man, you and I will stay here and cover the civilians.” 

“Roger, Captain Rogers,” says Clint, saluting, but the team doesn’t even have time to disperse before a caterwauling lizard skids around the corner, legs stomping wildly. A child somewhere shrieks. 

“It’s okay, guys, I got this one.” Revving his repulsors, Tony shoots for the lizard, fists clenched. But before he can reach the vulnerable spot under its chin, the lizard turns. With a sickening thud, its tail smashes into Tony’s chest. He goes flying and crashes on the other end of the street, behind a pile of rubble. 

Loki’s mind goes utterly, horrifyingly blank. 

“Tony!” Natasha screams, whirling. But Loki stays rooted to the spot, forcing himself to think. Going over there won’t solve anything. And even with the Hulk, they’re not strong enough to defeat the lizards like this. 

He may not have his scepter anymore, but there is still one thing he can do. 

Closing his eyes, Loki blocks out the sounds of smashing and screaming, and focuses his mind. He takes a deep breath and, one by one, begins to peel away the layers of his being. Faster and faster they fizzle out into the void, until he is left with nothing but a white-hot core of energy. 

He opens his eyes. _Now._  

He lurches forward and hits the pavement on his hands and knees, gasping. His fingernails are starting to grow and harden, and his teeth are suddenly too big for his mouth. The ridges on his spine swell, and his head snaps back as he lets out a shout which morphs halfway into a reptilian scream. 

And now he is taller than the street signs, and he can see what is on his left and what is on his right at the same time, and he has a tail. 

“Brother, what did you _do?”_ Thor shouts somewhere far below, but Loki ignores him. He is on a rampage. Roaring wordlessly, he charges for the nearest lizard and plows into its chest. He sinks his claws into its chest and his teeth into its throat, and the squealing lizard jerks spastically before toppling over. 

He does it again. And again. And again. The other Avengers fan out around him, taking down more of the creatures as they crawl out of the giant ragged hole that leads from the sewers. 

“There’s still too many of them,” Natasha grits out, firing a round of bullets into a lizard’s head. “They must have a nest down there!” 

Loki cranes his neck around until he finds the Hulk, and sends his thoughts towards him. _I have an idea._  

Face splitting in a giant, menacing grin, the Hulk nods and wades through the piles of broken vehicles on the street to look for what they need. 

 _Captain,_ Loki thinks urgently to Steve, _you need to get everyone to move. Get Stark, and get everyone as far away from here as possible. Trust me._  

For a moment, Steve looks as though he is about to protest, but then he nods tightly. “Give us three minutes. And then tell me when you’re ready.” With that, he begins rounding up the civilians and accompanying them down a side street. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki can see Thor scoop up the unconscious Tony from where they’d laid him down on the sidewalk, raise Mjolnir and soar out of sight. 

The Hulk stomps back to Loki. In his hands he is holding a tank truck, dented but miraculously still intact. He rips open the tank as easily as if it were made of paper, and empties the gasoline into the hole in the pavement. 

Loki shuts his eyes and concentrates on his inner organs, transforming them until he is certain he has it. _Get ready,_ he tells the Hulk and Steve. 

Taking a deep breath, he gapes his jaws wide and blasts a stream of fire into the sewer. 

The explosion is deafening. It shatters windows and sets off alarms, and sends both Loki and the Hulk crashing through the building behind them. 

For several minutes, Loki sees nothing but blackness. He can feel the lizard form slowly draining from him, though, and as he returns to his normal body, he can feel wounds opening. Someone picks him up—Thor, he thinks groggily, but he is too weak to protest. He is gently laid down on a patch of concrete that is blissfully cool. 

“It’s okay now,” he can hear Steve yelling faintly from somewhere far away. As Loki’s vision slowly returns and colors swim before his eyes, he can see the others dart over to Steve and disappear around the corner, presumably to survey the scene for any survivors. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, Loki realizes that he is now lying just a few feet away from Stark. He crawls slowly across the rubble towards the Iron Man suit, which is sparking erratically. As he is still trying to grow reaccustomed to having normal-sized fingers, he fumbles with the helmet before managing to yank it off. 

“Stark. _Stark.”_ Loki rattles him by the shoulders. He is alive, Loki knows he is, but his breathing is shallow, and his eyelids don’t even flutter. There is blood in his hair. 

Desperately, he channels his thoughts into Tony’s mind. _Stark, listen to me. You need to wake up._  

Something in there responds, but it is dangerously faint. Loki clenches his fists. _Come on._

Shutting his eyes again, he places his hands on Tony’s temples and sends a sweeping wave of energy into him. He can’t touch the heart, but he can sense broken ribs and bruised organs. Loki pours magic into each of them, knitting them back together until he is whole again. 

Gasping and coughing, Tony jackknifes into a sitting position. 

“Thank the gods.” Loki rakes the wet hair back from his forehead and slumps back onto his haunches wearily. 

Still taking deep gulps of air and struggling to regulate his breathing, Tony looks at him. “That was...unpleasant,” he finally gets out, and Loki laughs sharply. “What the hell happened?” 

“I took on lizard form.” Loki stares down at his hands, which are caked with grime and dried lizard blood. “It was the only thing I could think of.” 

“I was conscious for some of that, actually. Impressive stuff, by the way; remind me to collect the footage later.  But what I mean is, how come I feel like I could run a marathon right now instead of like I should be squished between two burger buns? And how come my mouth tastes like...” Tony smacks his lips experimentally. “Flowers?” 

“You were...injured, so I used some magic to heal you.” 

“You,” Tony says slowly, _“healed_ me.” 

“Did the explosion affect your hearing, Stark? That’s what I said.” 

Stark rolls over on his side, clutching his stomach, and for one terrible second Loki thinks he didn’t do it right, that he is still seriously hurt. But then to his amazement, Stark begins to laugh. 

“What in all the realms is so _funny?”_ Loki asks indignantly. 

“It’s just—if ever you needed a reason to _‘give me CPR’_ —“ He makes vigorous air quotes, still lying on the ground and laughing. “You fuckin’ _had_ it, and you choose to give me _magic_ instead. God. _Gods.”_  

Loki narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What’s CPR?” 

Stark narrows his eyes too, but he is smiling. “Aha,” he murmurs. “Finally, something I know that you don’t.” 

They are covered in blood (theirs) and slime (not theirs), and things are burning around them. But for the moment, all of that is drowned out, as Tony reaches up and seals Loki’s mouth with his. 

“How?” is the first thing Loki says, afterward. 

Stark shrugs, his brown eyes sparkling fondly. “For a guy who claims to be the original trickster, you’re terrible at hiding stuff.” He extends his arms and wiggles his fingers. “Come on, gorgeous, help me up.” Grasping him by the elbows, Loki slowly pulls him to his feet. 

“We need to get you a machine gun or something, so you don’t end up going all brown and scaly on us again. One giant creature on the team is enough.” Stark slings an arm across his shoulder, and together they start limping back to join the others. “Maybe a sword. You look like you know how to use one of those. And aww, look, your one good outfit is ruined. Guess you’ll have to use the shirts I bought you now.” 

At this point, Loki is actually thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’ll give it a try. But because he is who he is, and because he has to keep up appearances—at least for now—he merely laughs. “Not a chance in hell.”

**Author's Note:**

> down to the water’s edge: a loki/tony stark fanmix
> 
> and we can cast away those doubts.  
> Songs for the mechanic in the basement, and the god who loves him as much as his twisted heart can muster.
> 
> \--
> 
> 1\. The Lament of Eustace Scrubb – The Oh Hellos  
> brother forgive me, we both know I’m the one to blame  
> when I saw my demons I knew them well and welcomed them  
> but I’ll come around someday 
> 
> 2\. You’re A God – Vertical Horizon  
> we’re covered in lies, and that’s okay  
> but I hope I can find the words to say  
> ‘cause you’re a god, and I am not  
> and I just thought that you would know
> 
> 3\. Glory/Us – Acceptance  
> said you’re seeing right through me  
> could be pulling you to me
> 
> 4\. Why (Annie Lennox Cover) – Alan Cumming  
> I may be mad, I may be blind, I may be viciously unkind  
> but I can still read what you’re thinking  
> do you know how I feel  
> ‘cause I don’t think you know how I feel
> 
> 5\. Gone, Gone, Gone – Phillip Phillips  
> I’ll lie, cheat, I’ll beg and bribe  
> to make you well, to make you well
> 
> 6\. Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You – Arctic Monkeys  
> well I know that getting you alone isn’t easy to do  
> but with the exception of you I dislike everyone in the room
> 
> Bonus: Every Breath You Take (feat. Sting) – Robert Downey Jr.  
> oh can’t you see  
> you belong to me


End file.
